Legends of Olympus: Flame of the West
by Brad Law
Summary: Gaea has been defeated, at great cost. The gods are gone, Olympus is closed and the world is in chaos after the failure of the Mist. Now, 8 years later, Humanity has turned to the Demi-Gods to save them from the Monsters invading Earth. The New Roman Empire has been founded with Jason Grace as Caesar, and now the Flame of the West must be reignited - before all is lost.
1. Prologue: Brave New World

Prologue

_Wake up._

_Poseidon? Father, is that you?_

_Wake up, Perseus._

_Father, where are you!?_

_WAKE_ _UP!_

Percy's eyes snapped open, his instincts rippling into battle-mode. Never more than half-asleep anymore, his fingers gripped the hilt of Riptide instinctively; the uncapped pen already a lethal blade in his hand. The room he was in was less than luxurious, his bed barely passable, with moth-eaten curtains and dilapidated interiors. Once, it could have been quite the palace - the room was massive, despite its state of complete disrepair, but that was just the way things were now.

"Annabeth!" he called, pulling on a battered golden breastplate over his faded black combat jacket, stamped with a Trident.

"I'm here," replied his girlfriend a moment later, rushing into his room from an adjoining bathroom, her blonde hair tied back and a suit of armour strapped on over some faded battle fatigues. "Call came in two minutes ago, but apparently you didn't need to hear it. They're on the assault again, and we've lost half of the eastern line."

"Already?" Percy's voice filled with frustration, his fingers curling into fists around riptide. Both of them slept in combat gear now, and were already dressed for war, their pants heavy with combat implements, semi-polished black combat boots and practical fingerless gloves completing their look. Bracers and shin-guards of gold and bronze supplemented their haphazard attire, but it was the swords in their hands that truly separated them from regular mortal soldiers.

"The Sixth Legion is holding strong at the second fall back point, but even with Frank there…" Annabeth shook her head, her frown twisting the arcing scar that had been permanently torn from the corner of her left eye to the middle of her chin. "It's bad this time, Percy. Really bad."

"Did Nico return with the reinforcements from Cleveland?"

"If you could even call them that. Most of them are barely older than fifteen, and pretty much none of them can do much more than flail a sword or spear." Annabeth replied bitterly, "most of our veterans are still engaged at our northern flank; the fighting there has gotten worse."

"Damn it," Percy cursed quietly, "why now? I thought we'd have more time."

"It isn't your fault," Annabeth said in an attempt at consolation.

"No," he replied grimly, "but there's no one else to take the blame."

Gesturing commandingly, he led the way out of their room, staggering as the building - well, fortress - shook with impact force. "They've been shelling the city," Annabeth supplied wearily, "it's been almost impossible to do more than harry their emplacements."

"What about the Pegasi Corps?"

"We lost eight more riders to Gryphon attacks."

Percy's lips thinned into a silent, angry line and he shook his head. "Let's go, we need a view of what's happening."

Nodding in agreement, Annabeth followed him as he set off at a brisk walk down the broad hallway they'd emerged into, hooking a left halfway and jogging quickly up several flights of stairs. At the apex, they reached a large pair of heavy duty steel doors, sitting open in welcome. A fully armoured guard stood sentinel at each door, Imperial Gold and Celestial Bronze weaponry on their persons. The pair saluted, fist-to-heart, and bowed their heads as Percy and Annabeth walked in.

The room beyond, once a meeting area, had been haphazardly converted into a command position - LCD screens and Ethernet cables ranged the entirety of the area, with large radar displays and every kind of communications array - from two-way radios to holographic imaging - dominated large swathes of the room. Groups of boy, girls, men and women ranging from Fourteen to Twenty-Five rushed around delivering and receiving reports, and coordinating ground movement using both 3D maps on big projectors and paper ones on large tables.

"Lord Commander!" Percy turned as a harassed, exhausted looking blond boy jogged over, saluting hastily and bowing to Annabeth, before looking back to Percy. "Latest reports from the Third Legion, sir, regarding the assault at San Francisco." The boy, who couldn't have been more than sixteen, held out a sheaf of papers. Percy accepted them with a nod and the boy saluted, hurrying off to join a larger group pouring over headsets, computers and a fair number of printers.

After a few moments of reading, Percy silently handed the papers to Annabeth and walked to one of the large reinforced windows dominating the command centre, Riptide trembling in his grip. "Two cohorts lost, and it was _another_ false lead. _Two cohorts_ Annabeth." Having joined him at the window, his girlfriend said nothing, silently folding the papers and placing them on a nearby table. She swapped her sword to her left hand and slid her right into Percy's left, squeezing his fingers.

In front of them, the city of Manhattan stretched like a once-proud mausoleum, half its towering skyscrapers reduced to smouldering, smoking rubble - jagged tops of once-glorious buildings reduced to vicious teeth. Even now, artillery erupted against the magical barriers inside the city; shaking buildings and rupturing some of the more poorly defended sectors. The skyline of the city had been destroyed, its nerve centre stripped. From their position in the Empire State Building, Annabeth and Percy had a clear view of the entire city and the areas beyond. "They're becoming more determined," Percy said quietly, "and soon we won't have the forces to keep them at bay."

"There's still hope, the Master Bolt…"

"The Master Bolt vanished after the gods subdued Gaea, Annabeth. It's lost. Fallen to deepest pits of Tartarus."

"We'll find a way."

"I hope so," he said quietly, "because we can't keep this up forever. We're too thinly spread."

"If Jason can…"

"Caesar has more to worry about than just the war, Annabeth."

"It's still so strange hearing him called that," Annabeth murmured quietly, leaning against Percy, "Imperator Jason Grace. Caesar." Her eyes shifted to the abandoned streets of the city below them, "it seems like another age when we were on the _Argo II_ together."

"It was another age; we were just desperate teenagers with a ship and naive hopes." Percy murmured.

"Now we're _adults_ with a fledgling Empire and naive hopes."

Percy laughed without mirth, squeezing her hand. His eyes, hardened by years of war, raked the distant edges of their range. "It was bad enough when the mist failed, but who would've thought that this would happen so quickly."

"The world needed hope, Percy. It needed leadership. Who else could give it but you and Jason?"

"I just wish we'd been able to stop all this without unleashing every nasty in Tartarus and the Underworld."

"I know. But you're the Lord Protector of the Empire now, Nico is the Head of Intelligence and Jason's ruling what's left of the Human race. We aren't down and out yet, Percy. Not by a long shot."

Percy turned to her, managing a faint smile, his lips finding her forehead. "At least we still have each other. Look at how far we've come."

"You command the Legions of Rome, Perseus Jackson. Every loyal human being, demi-god and servant of the Olympians rally to your command. If any two people can get us through this hell, it's you and Jason."

Percy turned back to the window, his sea-green eyes lifting to the churning, eternal storm that presided over Manhattan. In the distance, lightning broiled within its depths, awaiting the chance to strike. Percy's grim expression never faded, "Let's hope you're right."


	2. Chapter I

I

Percy

"I need a map," Percy called loudly, making his way towards a group of tired Athenian demi-gods, "and an open line to Praetor Zhang." A bustle of bodies, voices and curses followed before an up-to-date map of Manhattan and a two-way radio were given to Percy. Beside him, Annabeth immediately began pouring over the map, analysing troop movements and the attack angle of the enemy forces arrayed against them.

Percy picked up the two-way receiver, internally grimacing at the state of disrepair their equipment was in, before thumbing the button. "Frank, it's Percy, you there?"

"Zhang here," Frank's deep voice replied with a crackle of static, "how can I help, Percy?"

"Status?"

"Bloodied but unbowed. The Sixth is holding strong."

Percy released a sigh of relief, raking his left hand through his hair, before continuing. "What about the enemy forces? What are they throwing at us this time?" In his gut, the son of the sea god knew exactly what to expect, but he wasn't about to make assumptions, not when it could be better than what his self-hating mind brought to the fore.

"A whole lot of Laestrygonians, Cyclops and skeletal warriors."

"That isn't too bad." Percy said hopefully, "the Legion should be able to handle that easily enough."

"They're being led by Krios." Frank responded grimly, his voice distorted by an explosion in the background. "And he's pissed."

"Krios? Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Percy turned to Annabeth, who just shook her head, lips down-turned into a scowl, brow furrowed in thought. His eyes traced her scar again, and then returned to the map, searching for some sort of answer or recourse. "Do you think you can take him out?"

"Krios?" Frank hesitated for a moment, at first speaking again only to shout for a shoring up of the fifth cohort, before replying to Percy. "Yeah, I reckon I can. The problem is that he's got an entire group of nasties protecting him, and I can't fight through all of them alone."

"Well that––"

Percy cut off abruptly at the shout of "Jackson!" ripping through the command centre, turning around. A moment of searching, and a grin lit his face. "Clarisse." Striding in with full battle regalia to the awe of those in the command centre, her Ares honour guard around her, Clarisse tossed her hair haughtily – thumping the butt of her spear on the floor in recognition. "I hear you need some monsters taken care of to the East. We're ready to go."

"Clarisse, what about your duties in the Regisaum? I thought you were protecting Jason." Annabeth said immediately, looking from the daughter of Ares to her troops with a critical eye. Attired in pure celestial bronze, and bearing an aura of prowling wolves, there was a very good reason her band of soldiers were named the 'Spartans'. By way of reply, Clarisse shrugged, as if signalling it was out of her hands. "We were sent here by the Consul, on advice from the Blackcoats." At the mention of the kill squad commanded by Nico di Angelo, Percy saw many of the demi-gods in the room shifted uneasily. It was one thing to know that the son of Hades was the head of Imperial Intelligence, but the mere mention of the ruthless Blackcoats was enough to turn the toughest man to a blubbering child. Nico was not known for his mercy, especially against those who betrayed the Caesar.

"The Consul? Reyna is taking advice from Nico, now?" Annabeth sounded surprised, and Percy could understand why. The idea of Reyna listening to Nico was about as likely as Kronos coming back from the dead and offering him some Tea and Biscuits. At that moment, however, Frank cut across them all over the two-way. "You still there, Percy? Could use some advice here."

Percy turned back, thumbing the button again, "yeah, I'm here, sorry Frank. I've got good news; Clarisse just arrived from the capital, along with her Spartans. We're sending them your way."

"The Spear of Ares herself? I'm honoured. Tell my sister I'll be glad to see her again." Frank's voice was a mix of relieved and weary, both happy and a little wary of Clarisse entering the field of war. In response, Clarisse snatched the receiver from Percy and thumbed it on, "just you hold on, _little_ brother. I'll be there to bail you out soon enough."

Tossing the receiver back to Percy, the daughter of Ares nodded to him and Annabeth. "Good luck, Jackson. I'll report in for further orders when Krios is dead. Again."

"Clarisse!" Annabeth said sharply, "have you forgotten who you're talking to?"

Hesitation flashed over Clarisse's face, followed by – much to Percy's surprise – shame, before she bowed her head and saluted fist to heart, a movement mimicked by her honour guard. "Lord Commander." Turning away, she and her Spartans marched out, thudding from the room for deployment. "Send them out in one of the APCs; we need them to arrive in one piece." Percy said in the wake of her departure, snapping the gawkers out of their stunned silence.

"Yes, Lord Commander," replied one of the communications staff, immediately swapping headsets to speak to the appropriate branch of the command and control centre. "Clarisse is on her way, Frank." Percy supplied to his friend over the two-way, "just hang tight."

"Copy that, Percy. Stay safe."

"Back at you."

"Over and out."

Percy put down the receiver and turned to Annabeth, blinking at her fierce expression and shifting his gaze to the map she was glaring a hole through. "What's wrong?" He asked carefully, too used to his girlfriend's penchant for tearing off the heads of those unwittingly intruding on her thought processes. By way of reply, she tapped her right finger against the Williamsburg Bridge, her scar twisting with her scowl. "This makes no sense. Why are they attacking New Jersey when we're much more capable of defending that than we are Brooklyn?"

"What do you mean?" Percy asked with a frown, not quite understanding her meaning.

"Think about it, our Legions are excellent in enclosed environments. The second fall-back point for the Eastern force is the Lincoln Tunnel, and we're so heavily fortified there that it's nearly impossible for anything but vastly superior numbers to breach our lines."

"Yes, but that's why they sent Krios."

Annabeth shook her head, "no, Percy. Think about it. Why send only Krios? Hyperion and Koios haven't been seen yet. It makes no sense that Krios would attack alone, when his brothers could join him. They _know_ we can repel just one Titan." For a moment, Annabeth paused, and Percy knew precisely why. Eight years ago, they had thought fighting a single Titan to be an impossible task – now it was less of a terror, and more of an annoyance. Things had changed. Her falter only lasted a moment, and the daughter of Athena pressed on.

"I think we're missing something. We aren't seeing the full picture."

Percy frowned alongside Annabeth and scanned the map in front of him, "it is a little strange. Well, unless..." Trailing off, he turned away and raised his voice, "I need a report from the Fifth Legion in Brooklyn. Someone contact Praetor Valdez and his forces!" A scramble of activity greeted the order, and several demi-gods scurried to attend to the task, furiously swapping radio equipment and Bluetooth headsets until one of them called back, "I have him, Lord Commander! But... wait, this can't be right..."

"What is it?" Percy demanded.

"I... I don't know." The communications officer, a boy barely older than seventeen, stuttered in confusion. "This makes no sense."

"Put it on the speakers." Said Annabeth calmly.

Complying quickly, the boy transmitted the call through to the speakers, and the room went quiet. "_––tor Leo Valdez to any receiving Imperial forces, the titans Hyperion and Koios have assaulted and taken our fortress in Queens and pushed us back to Williamsburg. We are unable to mount an effective resistance; the situation is dire, requesting immediate reinforcements. Gods, is anyone even hearing this? We need help, I've lost four cohorts, and the Titans are ripping us apart. This is Praetor Leo Valdez––"_

The room was in absolute silence, every eye turned to Percy and Annabeth. For his part, Percy could barely control his breathing. With a carefully maintained calm voice, he spoke. "Why did we not receive this transmission earlier?"

"It wasn't going through, sir. I had to swap to back channel frequencies and use public airwaves."

"You mean our network wasn't active?" Annabeth asked quietly.

"No, ma'am. Praetor Valdez wasn't able to transmit using our network. I think they took out his transmitter. He appears to be using an improvised communications system from one of the Williamsburg radio towers."

"Where?"

"Sector Bravo-Six, sir. There's no good place for defensive formations there, the Legion is probably surrounded. I... well, there's worse news."

"Tell me," Percy said in a dead voice.

"That transmission is on repeat, it's been going for the last half an hour."

More silence, and this time, Percy had no energy to break it. At his side, he felt Annabeth trembling, suppressing tears. Thirty minutes against two titans and a Horde of monsters. Leo was a good soldier, but he had never been their best field commander, and he was mostly responsible for siege and mechanised warfare – not the front line battle. They had always relied on his early warning system to alert them if he needed reinforcements, but if that had been subtly destroyed, perhaps by one of the Familiars – Humans aiding the forces arrayed against them in return for immunity – without Leo's knowledge...

"Ready Blackjack." Percy said with calm he definitely did not feel, "I'm going to investigate."

"Percy, you can't, if you fall_––"_

"Annabeth," he said with quiet ferocity, "it's _Leo_. I'm going."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"No, stay here, I need you to keep coordinating our force deployments."

"But!––"

"Annabeth, you're the best tactician we've got. I need you here."

For a moment, Annabeth stared at him, and then Percy grunted when she gripped him in an embrace, pressing her lips to his and mumbling a quiet threat against them, "don't you dare die, seaweed brain."

"I won't," he promised quietly, "I'd be too afraid of your anger to even think about it."

Nodding as if that were perfectly sensible, Annabeth detached herself from him and turned back to the maps. No tears glistened in her eyes, but that didn't surprise Percy – Annabeth Chase was one of the strongest, smartest and most dangerous people he'd ever known. Many considered him the best warrior in the Empire – that might be true, to a degree, but brute force never was the whole story. He would never stack himself against Annabeth, her knowledge of tactics; deployment and martial command were unparalleled. Percy knew he was good, but in his eyes, she was his better.

Turning away, the son of Poseidon marched from the command centre, towards the elevator outside. He didn't think about his girlfriend, or his position, or the world. All that mattered in that moment was finding Blackjack, and then finding Leo bloody Valdez. Failing that, he could always go and find Koios and Hyperion.

Lowering his gaze, he looked to Riptide, gripped in his right fist. _I'm coming for you, Leo. Don't you dare be dead._ He thought to himself fiercely, _and I'm going to make sure those Titans pay for the soldiers they took from you._ Outside, the water surrounding the city rippled subtly, and the spirits inhabiting them fled to the depths. Perseus Jackson had given himself to his inner god, and the seas awaited his command.


	3. Chapter II

II

Jason

"You can't be serious."

Jason opened his eyes, moving his gaze to the source of the voice disturbing the silence of the Throne Room. _My throne room_, he reminded himself silently. The speaker, voice riddled with disbelief, was a middle-aged Human in a surprisingly well-kept three-piece suit, with slicked back hair and a small retinue of followers. His words were directed at Jason, but he was alone in his study of the blond demi-god. The rest of his companions, suited or in dresses, were nervously scanning the silent Praetorian Guard stationed within the marble pillars of the royal chamber. Fifty of the best Roman Legionaries in the world, outfitted in Kevlar and Imperial Gold, with assault rifles, tower shields, _pilum_ and gladius.

"Is something amiss, Ambassador Lance?" The questioner was Reyna, the Consul of New Rome, her own attire heralding her parentage from Bellona. Dressed as fiercely as any of the Praetorian Guards, and accompanied by her two hounds, she struck quite the figure – standing at the foot of the three-tiered dais that housed the Caesar's throne. Jason's view of her, of course, was only the long black hair spilling down her back, and the Consul's circlet upon her brow. His attention, however, remained on the annoyingly haughty voice of the 'Ambassador' before them.

"Yes. Is this some sort of joke? This youth is supposed to be the Imperator? You expect us to believe that _this boy_ is the Caesar?" A derisive sneer curled his shaved features, the wings of grey in his hair indicative of his age. "I propose that my own son could make a more convincing ruler!"

While in the back of his mind, Jason knew he should feel insulted, there was little he found worth being angry over in the man's words. It was true, he himself had protested vehemently against his pronouncement as Caesar – he had even tried foisting the position on Percy, but his friends had been adamant: the son of Jupiter was the rightful inheritor of the Roman throne, regardless of any extenuating circumstances.

He wore the laurel wreath, the toga, even the ceremonial cloak – but he had stubbornly refused to be in armour every hour of the day. It was ridiculousness. So when Ambassador Lance, like so many before him, expressed his incredulity: Jason remained silent, composed and indifferent. It would pass, as all other doubts had passed, within a few moments. He was mostly just looking forwards to getting some pizza and trying to avoid more document signings. He really hated signing documents.

"Watch your tone, Ambassador," Reyna said calmly, "you would not want to offend the gods."

Another sneer, this one larger, distorted the man's face. "You're supposed to be the Consul? You're younger than my daughter. He's younger than my son. This whole thing is a farce." He looked up to Jason, "get off that throne before someone spanks you, young man. Hell, I might just sit in it myself."

At that, Jason did rouse from his detachment, and the Praetorian Guard moved as one, drawing their swords with resounding scrapes of metal on leather. Each blade was made from steel, edged with Imperial Gold. They would kill Humans and Monsters with equal impunity. The Guard stood ready, faces hidden beneath their conical helms. The Ambassador's retinue flinched, and even Lance himself seemed suddenly unsure. "Threats, now, little girl? This is all very well and good, but I demand to see the Impera–"

"You _demand_?" Jason's voice cut across Lance's like a thunderclap, measured and powerful, filled with both the vitality of youth and the grim maturity of an ancient soul. He had seen too much, experienced too much, to be anything less than Caesar. He had forgotten how to be a boy a long time ago, when he had been on a ship and the world had been normal.

"You come as a welcome guest into our home, walk with your self-absorbed pride into the centre of our Empire, and you _demand_?" As he spoke, the Praetorian Guard hunched, tensing themselves against the crackling, rumbling thunder echoing above the Regisaum. "My name is Augustus Jason Grace, Son of Jupiter, Caesar of Rome, and Prince of Storms. I am the Imperator, chosen by the children of Olympus, cousin to Lord Protector Perseus Jackson, Lord of the Tides. You insult my consul, the favoured daughter of Bellona, and you _DEMAND_?!" Thunder erupted like the roaring fist of Zeus himself, an unfortunate side effect of the anger raging inside Jason. He attempted to remind himself to be calm, the rational part of his mind told him to cool off, but he was tired of men like this. Absolute exhausted of enduring their false and bloated egos.

"You will _beg_ my Consul for her forgiveness, and if her Hounds find your apology honest, I will _allow_ you to deliver your _offer_ for our consideration. Be warned, they do not take kindly to liars. Fail to be _humble_ in the wake of your insult, and I will not hesitate to let her pets rip you apart here and now."

Jason sat down thereafter, nodding to the Commander of the Guard – a black-haired young demi-god named Proteus – to stand his men down, which he did with a snap of his fingers, the Praetorian Guards returning to their silent vigil. For his part, Ambassador Lance looked terrified, his face drained of colour and his lips parted in fear. His retinue was a mess, several of them – men and women alike – openly weeping. Jason felt, abruptly, a wave of shame at what he had done; terrifying mortals, even those led by one so despicable, because of a little annoyance. He was better than that, he had always swore to himself he would never let his crown – laurel wreath, whatever they wanted to call it – change him.

It was too late to apologise or negate what he had said without looking weak, but he would remember the feeling of shame in future. He would not allow himself to become a bully. Below, Reyna observed neutrally as the Ambassador stammered out a fearful apology, and her hounds sniffed the air, judging. After he had finished, they growled, but did not move to attack – seemingly content he had been sincere. Reyna glanced back at Jason subtly, a glint of thanks in her eyes and the quirk of her lips, before she directed her attention to the grovelling Ambassador.

"Now then, Ambassador Lance. I believe you had terms to present to Caesar?"

"Y-yes." The suitably humbled Ambassador replied shakily, "I represent the districts of the Texan Alliance." His voice became stronger as he found his stride, "until recently, we were holding out rather effectively against the Monster invasion, but a recent and damaging wave of setbacks have forced our troops into a mass retreat. We've lost large swathes of Mississippi and Missouri, and Louisiana is close to falling."

He took a breath, and Jason could see that beneath the proud veneer, he truly was desperate. There was no doubting it, the Texan Alliance was crumbling. It had been one of the biggest thorns in the Empire's unification campaign to date, but now, this was the perfect chance to solidify their southern holdings, and recruit some badly needed troops – as well as redouble their standing forces across the American continent. "President Rutherfield has convened with Congress and it has been agreed that we cannot hold back the monsters by ourselves. We need Imperial support."

_Finally! A break._ Jason thought in relief, eyes sliding to Reyna. "What does the Empire have to gain from such aid, Ambassador Lance? Our borders are secure, our fortresses well-placed. To move to your aid would endanger many of our hard-won territories. What is the Alliance offering to balance the weight of these possible sacrifices?"

"Well, we can offer weapons, trade, cross-training–"

"The heirs of Olympus need no assistance in combat training, weapons or trade, Ambassador. Our economy, such as it is, is thriving. Our Legions are undefeated and our weapons are _far_ more effective than yours. I ask again, what does the Empire have to gain from such aid?"

The Ambassador visibly frowned now, and a few beads of sweat dotted his forehead. "Well... that is..." He looked around, and then turned back to Reyna, "surely you wouldn't leave us to fight alone! Where is your loyalty to Humanity?!"

"You believe that our lack of sacrifice on the behalf of an Alliance that has _ridiculed_ and _denounced_ us at every turn is a lack of loyalty to Humanity? We _are_ humanity, Ambassador. The Empire is the last bastion of cultural freedom in the world. As I understand it, the Alliance still practices slavery, and is riddled with political corruption."

The Ambassador turned a shade of purple at Reyna's words that Jason had previously thought impossible. Yet, just when the Caesar assumed another outburst was coming, the blustering man instead seemed to deflate completely. Understanding, terrible and defeated, dawned on his features. "You planned this all along, didn't you?" He asked hollowly, "you knew we would need you, sooner or later. That's why you never moved against us. We always wondered... Your armies were so successful against the other states that resisted, we wondered why you didn't just come for us years ago."

"I'm afraid I don't know what it is you're implying, Ambassador." Reyna said diplomatically, arching an ebony eyebrow at the man critically. "There are no insidious master plans to be found here. We have done only what was needed to ensure the safety of our people. A protracted war with the Alliance would be foolish, considering the threats arrayed against Humanity."

"Yes, and offering aid would have made you look desperate. No need to admit to it, Consul, I know a checkmate when I see one. Very well, then." In silence, the Ambassador opened his briefcase, pulling out a stapled stack of papers. "This is an offer, voted on and passed by the President and Congress, authorising the dissolution of the Texan Alliance–" his strength seemed to fade completely as he spoke "–and rendering all participating bodies into supplicant nations under the authority of the New Roman Empire."

As he finished, Jason rose, descending from his throne with measured, carefully controlled steps. He would not allow the roar of victory raging through his veins to show on his features. Instead, he maintained the guise of Caesar, his face an imperious and indifferent façade . "As Imperator and Caesar of the New Roman Empire, I, Augustus Jason Grace, do hereby accept and acknowledge the states of Mississippi, Missouri, Kansas, Louisiana, Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas as members of the New Roman Empire, with full rights and privileges as dictated by my will." Turning to one of the nearby messengers, all of them sons of Hermes, Jason spoke in a commanding voice, "carry word to my Generals. We will dispatch Ten Legions to aid the new subjects of the Empire in the South."

Snapping to attention, the messengers departed at a sprint, each of them racing towards the Pegasi waiting for them outside the palace. For his part, Ambassador Lance blinked, "only ten? Surely that won't be enough."

Jason raised a blond brow, blue eyes locked on the Ambassador. "You believe each Legion only contains a thousand, as it did in Ancient Rome?"

"Well, yes. That's what our intelligence – er, that is, your intelligence network now – reported, er, my Lord."

Jason ignored his stumbling over protocol, smiling in satisfaction. "You are mistaken, Ambassador. Each Legion no longer consists of one thousand." Confusion flickered across Lance's face, and he turned to Reyna, as if expecting some sort of explanation. To help him, she offered her own little smile. "It's true, we left that tradition behind with the old Empire."

"Then how many does each consist of?"

At that moment, trumpets erupted into sound outside, a deafening chorus that drowned out all sound. What followed was a sound like distant thunder, as if the very earth were trembling. "What is that!?" Lance asked in shock, followed by an expression of terrified realisation. "Those are the legions..."

"Yes, Ambassador." Jason said quietly, "to answer your previous question, we decided that for this war, one thousand was far too few to be effective. No, each Legion is comprised of Ten Thousand Roman soldiers."

"T-ten thousand...?"

"Rejoice, Ambassador," Reyna said with a reassuring smile, "soon, the Legions of New Rome will march through your cities – and your people will be delivered."

_Yes_, Jason thought victoriously, _delivered right into our hands, now and forever._

Outside, sunlight blazed down upon the city of Romana Prima, in what was once Olympia, Washington. Beneath its radiant shine, the two hundred thousand of the Empire's newest soldiers marched forth under the leadership of veteran commanders, on their way to holy battle, for the Glory and Power of Rome and the man they called Caesar.


	4. Chapter III

III

Leo

"Keep your heads down!"

Leo peeked up over the hastily erected barricade near the northern radio tower of Williamsburg, peering at the slavering Horde of monsters screaming for his blood, brushing aside his curly hair when it fell into his eyes. The day had started good, gotten better, and ended at the absolute worst. In less than two hours, he'd lost nearly two thousand soldiers and been driven back in massive increments to this gods-forsaken park of _stupid_.

Around him, his legionaries struggled to repel the endless tide of foes thrown at them by Koios and Hyperion, the two Titans bellowing their mockery at the Imperial forces. Leo had never been the best commander, he had never _wanted_ to be a Praetor – Jason and Percy had all but thrust him into the position as a means to give him better access to Imperial resources without causing senatorial outrage. Plus, he had gotten some pretty awesome armour. A Kevlar body-kit, with bronze-and-gold plate from his shoulders to his feet. Still, the Senate? Politics? What a ridiculous thing, to care about a few toga-wearing whosits when you're the sons of Zeus and Poseidon!

Overhead, a cannonball exploded in a shower of shrapnel, forcing Leo to duck back under his haphazard barricade of spare wood and broken armour. A glance behind him checked for the laptop he'd programmed to repeat his distress signal, and his heart nearly stopped. In big, mocking red letters, the words 'LOW BATTERY' were blinking on the screen. "You can't be serious!"

Leo wasn't entirely sure who it was, exactly, that he was complaining to – it would be Percy, normally, but Percy wasn't there for him to annoy. He wished he had Festus, but he was off protecting the Imperial heartland with his brothers. Another whine of impact, and he screwed shut his eyes as the explosion rocked his area. Flames washed over him harmlessly, but the legionary beside him wasn't so lucky, howling in pain at the fire scorching his face.

Leo's lips formed a line of frustration, there was nothing he could do! Most of his soldiers were primarily builders, mechanics, not front line killers. The few he had were busy fighting for their lives against the big nasties, and even with superior roman training, his engineers were poorly matched against some of the monsters – especially the super creepy skeletal soldiers that seemed intent on living up to every horrific zombie movie ever made.

"Mitchell!" Leo called loudly, looking around for one of his Centurions.

"Yes, Praetor?" Came the calm reply to his left. Mitchell was a big, strong looking man with skin as black as coal. The guy was a monster; nearly six feet and seven inches tall, bulging with muscle and sporting more than a few wicked scars. He'd ranked up to his post through sheer power, a proud son of Bellona. "I need you to take the sixth Cohort and help the First, they're being torn apart by the enemy Vanguard."

"That would leave your northern line weakened, Praetor."

"Yes, but it'll also put more pressure on their frontal assault and force them to draw troops away from the Eighth and Ninth cohort. I reckon that's a good thing."

"Ah, I see your point." Mitchell nodded and saluted fist-to-heart, "by your will, Praetor Valdez."

Leo nodded and turned back to the battle, standing to get a better view and risking the exposure inherent to the action. All around him was chaos, he could see the two Titans shouting at their minions to advance, see the Legion like a sea of black and red, attempting to hold back the tide of nasties pressing in on them. Screams and roars filled the air like some sort of weird, morbid orchestra – not a sound Leo was used to hearing, even after so many years of being exposed to war.

"I miss my workshop," he muttered bitterly, looking around for some sign of change. When he saw it, he was not pleased – it was the opposite of the change he'd been hoping for. To the south, their line buckled in a wave, due mainly to a single nasty worse than the rest: the Minotaur. Bellowing its rage, the creature barrelled through the Roman _testudo_, flinging Humans and Demi-Gods aside like large, metal dolls caught in a tantrum.

Leo narrowed his eyes, picking up his warhammer from where it sat against the barrier. The weapon was massive, a shaft of five feet with a massive, cylindrical head and small Celestial Bronze spikes on each face. When he grasped it, red lines snaked down the metal shaft in a spiral and culminated at the head, the weapon exploding into flames. "Alright, you ugly bastard," Leo muttered to himself, "time to say hello to my not-so-little-flaming-friend."

Hefting the weapon, he ran out from behind the barrier and ducked some hastily fired crossbow bolts, weaving through his own lines with his purple cloak billowing behind him. A pair of Legionaries saw him and blinked in surprise, but Leo didn't slow down, "Give me a boost!" He yelled at them, and after a moment of wide-eyed realization, the pair fell to their knees, tower shields braced against their shoulders facing Leo. Squaring his shoulders, the Praetor sprinted forwards and up the pair of shields, bending his legs and leaping at the same moment as the Legionaries shoved upwards.

For a few moments, the son of Hephaestus sailed through the air, legs kicking wildly, until he landed with a grunt and roll right in the path of the Minotaur. "Hey!" He shouted wildly, "dung-for-brains! Over here, you big ugly son of a goat!" The Minotaur paused in its rampage, turning with an enraged roar, beady eyes searching for the one who had shouted the insults. _Great,_ Leo thought to himself, _now I'm a bloody matador._

The Minotaur gripped its axe, snorting in fury and stamping its hoof in preparation to charge. "That's right, you sheep-loving duck-kisser! I'm hungry, and I feel in the mood for _steak_!" Roaring both in outrage and confusion, the Minotaur needed no further encouragement. Legionaries scattered alongside Monsters as the bullman rushed towards Leo, horns lowered. The Praetor, standing on the balls of his feet, waited until the Monster was almost upon him before he dived forwards, rolling between the creature's legs and spinning around.

As the creature staggered to a halt, Leo ran desperately towards its back, hefting his warhammer and throwing himself to his knees in a power slide, scraping sparks from his bronze greaves as he swung his hammer wildly, smashing one spiked face into the back of the Minotaur's right leg. Roaring in pain and anger, the Minotaur staggered, attempting to look behind it at the same moment as Leo came around to the front. Taking his chance, he reversed the grip of his hammer and swung it upwards, catching the creature between the legs, right in the loincloth.

The Minotaur blanched, emitting a wheezy growl, and dropping onto its inverted knee joints. "Sorry buddy," Leo said grimly, "I like my steak well done." With that, he drew his hammer back and swung with full force, smashing it into the back of the Minotaur's head with a resounding _crack_, shattering the creature into golden dust. Staggering from the inertial force of the hit, he looked back at his stunned soldiers, glaring at them. "Well, what are you waiting for? Kill some monsters!"

Roaring in approval, the Legion surged forwards, charging towards the Monsters absent formation and crashing into them with roars of war lust, chopping, stabbing, hacking and cleaving with reckless abandon. Nodding in satisfaction, Leo turned to his left, and nearly dropped his hammer in shock. While he had been fighting the Minotaur, an even greater battle had been taking place. Mitchell was locked in conflict with Hyperion, exchanging blows with the Titan and definitely not coming off better for it.

"Mitchell!" Leo shouted desperately, throwing his aching muscles into a sprint. A few skeletal warriors tried to impede them, but he ignored them, incinerating them with a few quick surges of power. Distantly, he reflected that such mastery of his gifts would have served him nicely in the final battle against Gaea, but he didn't dwell on it, his entire world balanced on helping his Centurion.

Hyperion countered an attack from Mitchell and struck back with a vertical slash, which the Centurion blocked with his gold-edged greatsword, throwing the Titan's own weapon back and spinning under his guard, slicing up at the gold warrior's chest. A roar of anger erupted from Hyperion and he kicked Mitchell savagely, flinging the son of Bellona backwards with an audible crack.

"_Mitchell!_" Leo yelled in desperation, lifting his warhammer. "You bastard!" The Praetor prepared to intercept the titan, when something blasted him off his feet. When Leo next opened his eyes, he was lying at an awkward angle ten feet away, with a dull roaring in his ears. In front of him, a being in white armour, with swirling cloud patterns across its surface was staring at Hyperion. _Koios_ Leo thought groggily, _titan of… heavenly oracles… and pretty clouds, apparently. Heh…_ He coughed and turned towards Hyperion, blinking away the blurriness from his vision. "Mitchell?" He rasped, looking for the Centurion.

When he saw him, he lost the ability to speak. Even the battle had died down to a few remote skirmishes, Monsters and Romans watched in equal silence at Hyperion and Mitchell, the former standing with his golden sword triumphant, the latter kneeling with his sword as support. A steady pool of blood was spreading from the Centurion, dripping from a massive gash in his chest. He appeared to be trying to speak, and Hyperion leaned in mockingly, "what is it, puny demi-god?"

In reply, Mitchell moved with a final surge of strength, burying his greatsword into Hyperion's right shoulder. "For the glory of Rome, and Imperator Jason Grace!" The Titan roared in agony, and Mitchell laughed, right up until the point that Hyperion's weapon pierced him chest-to-back, skewering the son of Bellona like a kebab. Even as he died, Mitchell spat blood at Hyperion, his last act defiance.

Leo's world went numb, and Hyperion discarded the corpse, turning towards Leo. "Your leader lays broken, little demi-gods!" The Titan roared savagely, "your champion is dead! Who now can stand against the might of the Titans Hyperion and Koios?!" The Monsters roared their approval, thundering a horrendous chorus of jeers, snarls and growls into the air.

_This is it,_ Leo thought numbly, _I'm dead._ Hyperion advanced towards him, even as the Legionaries looked on in frozen horror. The Titan's sword was in his left hand now, his right arm useless, leaking golden ichor. "Time to join your friend, little demi-god."

Time slowed down.

Hyperion raised his blade.

Leo closed his eyes.

Abruptly, the Romans and Monsters alike gasped collectively, and something earthshaking exploded just near Leo's head. Opening his eyes hesitantly, Leo looked around. Where Hyperion had been, there was instead empty space. Turning to his right, he saw the Titan staggering to his feet, as if groggy, his brother Koios backing away slowly.

Turning to his left, Leo's breath caught in his throat.

The Legion had parted like a crescent, awed into silence. In their midst, striding out from the smoke and debris caused by the exploding ground, golden blade shining in his grasp, came a warrior of legend. Around them, the winds had begun to rise, swirling towards the creation of a Hurricane. Thunder crackled above the water nearby. The Romans began to murmur, "Earthshaker" "Stormfather" "Lord of the Tides" but to Leo, he had but one thing to name his saviour.

"_Percy._"


	5. Chapter IV

IV

Nico

"Are you sure this will work, President Rutherfield?" The speaker was a middle-aged man, dressed in a pristine pinstriped suit, a three-piece Armani he had managed to keep clean and safe even through the end of the world. His name was Adrian Lance, the brother of the same Ambassador who even then was receiving a tour of the Imperial capital.

"Yes, Adrian," replied the grey-haired man sitting in the chair before the small crowd. Seated behind a mahogany desk, with the American flag bannered widely behind him, President Rutherfield was the image of patriotism, a grim man of some sixty-five years. He had seen and done it all, and when the apocalypse had arrived, he had faced it with the dignity of a General – the very role he had once filled in the United States military.

"But what about their Legions?" Asked one of the women, a younger member of the group, dressed in a gorgeous blouse and skirt, red heels lifting her height. She tossed her brown hair, looking critically at the President. "The Empire has hundreds of thousands of soldiers. Even with a full force at our disposal, we'd be hard pressed to resist them if they invade in force."

"You give them too much credit, Adrianna." Commented another man, this one younger, garbed in a white suit and rancher's hat. "Those 'Romans' as they like to call themselves are all busy playing with shields and swords. We've got machine guns. Ain't nothin' they can do to mess with our forces when they spring the trap."

"Are we even sure this is necessary, though, Rupert?" Cut across yet another representative, another woman, and this one older in years and possessing a stern countenance. A long black dress hugged her curvaceous form, and age had done little to diminish her elegance – her stunning beauty. "The Empire could be invaluable to us, would it truly be so terrible to accept their rule?"

A snort greeted her words, and murmurs rippled through the crowd, an expression of their nerves and fear. Even here, in the heart of Dallas, they were afraid. They were afraid of monsters, of demi-gods, of the revelation of primordial powers and events far beyond their meagre human comprehension. Fear had motivated them to band together, and now fear – and hatred bred from that fear – motivated their duplicity, their treason. Rutherfield, their leader, simply sat in silence and observed – noting their reactions, their speech. He let them argue and debate, and carefully weighed who to chide and who to support, applying his brilliance in tactics to the battle before him.

"Come now, Silena." Adrian chided in amusement, "you would suggest our compliance with these godless fools? Spouting rubbish about Olympus and Tartarus and any number of ancient, collywobbles nonsense?" The congressman shook his head, his lips curled to a sneer. "These Monsters are little more than tests from God, just as the church says, to attempt to stagger our faith. Unless you _also_ believe that their Imperator can command lightning and fly on the winds?"

A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the assembled, all save Rutherfield and Silena, the former observing quietly and the latter with compressed lips. "I do not think we should discount this so easily, Adrian. If what we've heard is true, then the Caesar recognizes the states we represent as Imperial territories. We are subject to the scrutiny of his agents, now, more than ever."

"The Blackcoats." Rutherfield supplied in his gravelly voice, raising a bushy grey eyebrow at Silena. "You refer to the Empire's Intelligence division. Their secret police."

Silena nodded curtly, and the other representatives seemed to lose some of their newfound confidence, even Adrian Lance, who frowned some. "Surely, the stories can't all be true…" He murmured, looking around and then to Rutherfield. "Surely we don't believe the rubbish that's been said. Travelling through shadows? Riding on demon hounds? Commanding the dead? This is the stuff of fiction, not reality."

"No, Adrian." Rutherfield agreed, "I do not believe these stories, but every fiction has a root. To be so feared, these men and women must be highly trained, and highly efficient. Whatever the Empire may be, it is not foolish, it is not ill-prepared. They have destroyed every expectation we held for them – outfought and destroyed even the fiercest of the states that resisted them. They've spread across the North, East and West of the country like a plague." The representatives looked to each other uncomfortably, each of them remembering all too well the early days of the war, the relentless victories the newborn Empire had won.

"Jason Grace, Perseus Jackson and…" Adrian trailed off, frowning. "What was the third fellow's name? The other member of their little triumvirate." He peered around, but no one seemed to be able to assist him. Even Rutherfield, wise and prepared old Rutherfield, furrowed his brow. It was as if the name was on the tips of their tongues, tingling, taunting them – but they could not speak it. No matter what they tried, what they attempted, they could not say it.

"Nico di Angelo," supplied a new voice, an alien voice, from behind all of them.

The group whirled, and Rutherfield raised his eyes, widening them a moment later. Before them, dressed in a shin-length black coat, with his a wicked looking pistol on one hip and an ominous black iron sword on the other, was a brown-haired spectre of death. Faint black bags hung under his eyes, and the features of his face were fair, cast in a noble aspect. There was an aura of palpable danger, destruction, which surrounded the figure – as if imminent desolation followed in his wake.

There was no visible means of his entrance, yet even as he spoke, he was joined by others in black coats – stepping from seemingly nowhere, filling the room, their features obscured behind featureless black facemasks. The representatives were silent, watching the new arrivals like deer caught by a pack of wolves. It was Rutherfield who spoke first, voice calm and nerves mastered. "I presume I am speaking to the very same?"

"You are," Nico replied, stepping forwards and clasping his hands at the base of his spine. "I come bearing glad tidings, Mister Rutherfield."

"President Rutherfield!" Corrected Adrian Lance haughtily, "you mistake yourself, young man."

Nico looked down at Lance, raising an eyebrow. At six feet and five inches, the son of Hades had grown into quite the man, lean and powerful – toned musculature lending a lupine grace to his movements. "I am under the understanding that, per your Ambassador's words, the Texan Alliance has been dissolved and its client states assimilated as loyal territories of the Empire."

Adrian Lance blinked, but Nico did not give him time to do more than stand there silently. As if sensing something, the surrounding representatives subtly backed away, leaving Adrian very much alone. To his credit, or perhaps as tribute to his ignorance, he did not seem to care – or perhaps did not notice. "Your words to the contrary of the former President's current position, however, lead me to believe that you were not aware of this – or perhaps, you had never planned to serve the Imperator loyally. Perhaps thoughts of ambush, to lure in our armies, and crush them unawares?"

The representatives staggered as if hit, Rupert gripping the desk, Adrianna sinking into a chair, Silena swaying in the spot. Even Lance, infallible Lance, blanched. "I… We would never! That would be… very bad, yes, very bad." His eyes darted wildly, sweat beading his forehead. Suddenly, the suit seemed very constricting. "The President– that is, the _former_ President can surely attest to this."

Turning to Rutherfield, Adrian nodded intently. The former President, however, did not attest. Instead, he stood from his chair, placing his hands on the desk. "I expected this, Lord di Angelo. That is the proper term, yes? You are a Lord in the Empire?" Nico nodded, calmly, as if all of this was completely normal. "Very well," Rutherfield said, "it has been a pleasure, but I'm afraid we must end this little farce." His fingers compressed a button, hidden, on his desk. Within the presidential building, alarms screamed, and the representatives began to recover themselves.

"I advise you surrender, Lord di Angelo. There is little you can do against our entire response unit."

For his part, Nico simply lifted his right hand, snapping his fingers. As if by some silent signal, two of the Blackcoats near the doors turned and calmly opened them. As they did, a staggering stench of death scoured through the room, sending the representatives into nauseous fits of retching. What followed was a collapse of corpses, outfitted in Alliance uniforms and holding their weapons. Every single one of the corpses had a precision wound, delivered by a blade or gun, killed instantly.

The representatives released a collective gasp of horror, terror and revulsion. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph…" Rupert said in a choked voice. "What manner of hell is this?" Adrian supplied, while Adrianna simply wept hysterically. Silena, for her part, closed her eyes and compressed her lips – while Rutherfield, unshakable Rutherfield, collapsed into his chair. "You aren't Human…" he said in hoarse disbelief.

Nico had not, even by that moment, blinked. "You would be correct. I am the Son of Hades, Lord of the Grace, Prince of Damnation, the Ghost King. I am the Shadow of Caesar, and I am here to ensure the peaceful assimilation of the former Texan Alliance."

"Alright." Said Rutherfield simply, "very well, Lord di Angelo. You win. We surrender." He nodded to the representatives, "disarm yourselves. There's no point in fighting further. They have us." Not even bothering the argue, they did so – Rupert pulled out two revolvers and tossed them at Nico's feet, followed by a desert eagle from Adrian, a glock from Adrianna's purse and a large colt from Rutherfield himself. Silena, seemingly unarmed, simply stood and trembled.

"Ah… that is very kind, but you misunderstand me, Mister Rutherfield." Nico's voice had not changed in tone, calm and cool, like the icy caress of death upon a lost soul's ear. Soothing, calming, yet terrifying and horrible all at once. The speech of a true child of the immortal and the mortal, the perfect Hybrid of the fleeting and eternal.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Lord di Angelo." Rutherfield commented with a raised grey eyebrow, "We have surrendered."  
"Yes," Nico said with a nod, "but I am not a Praetor. This was never a negotiation."

"What do you mean?" He asked hoarsely, his calm exterior cracking at last.

"Quite simply, Mister Rutherfield, my duties are to ensure the security of the Empire, the loyalty of its Senators and Generals and the safety of the Caesar. As territorial leaders, you received an immediate elevation to places of Senatorial influence within the Empire, the moment your Ambassador offered you to the Imperator." Nico inclined his head respectfully, "that makes you Senators of the Empire, congratulations."

The group looked at each other, unsure, before Nico forestalled any questions by continuing. "However, this also means you are now citizens of the New Roman Empire, and thereby under the scrutiny of the secret police. No one is above my purview, save Caesar himself and the Lord Protector." Nico's Blackcoats seemed to shift stance then, subtly, from observation to preparation. "We are at war, you see. The creatures we battle have no care for social conduct, and familiars plague even us. We have become quite adept at ensuring the solidarity of our Empire, of course, but it is not always a clean business."

At this point, the representatives had begun to despair again, and even Rutherfield began to sweat. "I fear I'm rambling on a little, but the central point is that I exist to ensure that we are never weakened from within. That includes allowing the existence of Senators who, perhaps in their own misguided actions, see themselves as doing the right thing by attempting to seize more power than is their due."

"What are you saying, you bastard? That you're going to kill all of us?" Adrian's voice broke as he spoke, yet the last surge of wild defiance earned him some credit in Nico's eyes. Some.

"Not at all, Senator." Nico replied with a cold smile, "killing all of you? That would be wasteful, and rather pointless."

The group released a collective sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. The Blackcoats all drew their pistols in harmony, training them on the representatives.

"You just said you weren't going to kill us!" Rupert shouted angrily. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I said I wouldn't kill _all_ of you, Senator. Not that I wouldn't kill most of you."

Rutherfield looked around his office, from the Blackcoats to the other representatives, the men and women who had fought with him to establish the Texan Alliance, campaigned relentlessly to unify the disparate states. The passionate, brave men and women who had dared to defy, perhaps foolishly, the overwhelming power of the New Roman Empire. In the end, he recognized their flaw, their mistake – they had believed the Romans to be far less than them, believed that they were but a group of brainless heathens. Foolish. Stupid. It had cost them, all of them, their lives. Rutherfield closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I am so sorry."

Nico lifted his right hand. "Execute."

The gunshots rang out like a chorus of thunder, dropping every one of the representatives in precise, instant executions – all of them, save for Silena. When the noise died down, the guns returned to their holsters, the red-garbed Senator opened her eyes – staring around in a mix of horror, traumatic shock and relieved disbelief. "Wh-why?" She asked in a terrified whisper, to which Nico answered calmly.

"Because you recognised the idiocy of their plots, and advocated loyalty, despite being without a need to do so. You, alone, we can trust in the Senate. Congratulations, Senator Silena. _Senātus Populusque Rōmānus__. _Welcome to the New Roman Empire." Beside him, one of his Blackcoats spoke, voice as cold and dispassionate as the grave. "My lord, it is time." Nodding, Nico stepped backwards, his Blackcoats accompanying him to array themselves in formation to his rear. "Wait here for the arrival of our forces, Senator. You will be expected to coordinate with the Generals to ensure a peaceful and healthy transition of power. I trust you can fulfil that duty?"

Silena nodded mutely, her features distorted by fear, and a faint green tinge, as if she were fighting the urge to vomit. "One of my Blackcoats, Volanus, will remain with you to support you in any way you need. He is a son of Athena, and has quite the head on his shoulders. Until next time, Senator." Without waiting for her reply, Nico stepped back and his Blackcoats mimicked him. Together, they collapsed into their own shadows against the wall, gone.

As if they had never existed.


	6. Chapter V

V

Frank

The sound of cracking bone was nothing new to Frank Zhang, but he sure wished it would stop being so _common_. The Skeletal soldiers arrayed before him were little more than target practice at this point in his life, the gladius in his right hand cleaving through them like so much unliving detritus. His body was encased in a set of elaborate, golden armour, the tower shield on his left arm marked with the sigil of Mars Ultor, his helm forged with elegant falcon's wings at the temples, his pauldrons thickened and crafted in the shape of snarling lion heads.

The Praetor's gauntlets were infused with thick spikes over the knuckles in imitation of bear claws and his boots were clawed like the feet of a dragon. Smashing his shield into the body of yet another skeletal soldier, dissolving it into dust and bone powder, Frank took a moment to assess his situation. The surprise attack had caught his forces off-guard, but they had rallied successfully at the second fallback outside the Lincoln Tunnel entrance, mastering their broken discipline and reforming ranks quickly.

It had been an easy task, following that, to engineer a defensive strategy using the urban city surroundings and meet the reckless Monster charge with a full roman shieldwall. Frank remembered being told once, a long time ago, that a general ceased being a general the moment he exchanged his baton for a blade. It was true, to a degree – a Commander needed to be able to give orders without the pressure of duress, especially from enemy forces. However, in this case, the best way to ensure that was to simply slaughter any foes that came too close. Besides which, if he avoided conflict, he could never comprehend the _pulse_ of the battle.

As any veteran commander or general worth his stars would say, the pulse of a battle – the shifts, eddies and flows – dictated precisely how and where soldiers needed to be deployed. Fail to understand the shifting tides of war, and they would cover you and drown you: At least metaphorically. In truth, it would simply result in a devastating defeat and the loss of one's own head. Sheathing his blade, Frank ripped his halberd from the ground, wielding the massive weapon one-handed. Few could boast such, but the Might of Mars was not any regular demi-god.

"Justin!" Frank called loudly, voice booming across the battlefield. "Report!"

Nearby, several Legionaries parted to allow a Centurion out, his armour battered from fighting and his left forearm bloody. Aside from that, however, he seemed to be doing well. His sandy brown hair was cropped close to his head, and his hazel eyes seem to see everything at once. "We're doing well, Praetor. The line is holding strong for the moment, and Krios seems unwilling to do more than harry our forces."

"He still has to be dealt with," Frank commented with a grunt.

"Yes, Praetor." Justin agreed simply, "but at the moment, reaching him is impossible. We'd have to divert forces from our flank guard or push the van, and if we make an incision too deep into the enemy line, we run the risk of a scalpel." To anyone else, half of it sounded like gibberish. To Frank, however, and his well-trained officer corps, it all made perfect sense. The flank guard was there, naturally, to ensure that the Roman sides were well-defended against the inevitable assaults from the Titan's strike teams, aimed at weakening their rear line, and thereby crippling their frontal forces.

The Vanguard, as it was called, comprised the very first two rows of any combat line – the initial wave. If they pushed out too hard, they would be forced to form a flying V phalanx. While effective, it was also hard to control in terms of momentum. If they pushed too far into the monster lines, which Krios would undoubtedly allow, then the enemy could collapse near the rear or middle of the V and effectively 'scalpel' it from the main force, allowing a wholesale slaughter of the advancing Legionaries.

"So we maintain formation until we have a staggered advance point," Frank said simply, "and then we use a feint to expose their artery." The Praetor pointed with his halberd, sweeping it across the area that Krios occupied. "I want a surgical team ready for a pinpoint incision, the moment Clarisse and her Spartans arrive. We need to create a force multiplier as soon as she's here. That means projection of strength."

Justin nodded along with him, a sly smile forming on his lips with every word. He was enjoying the plan, as always. "What do you recommend?"

"Ninth cohort, roaring falcons." Frank said after a moment of consideration.

"Both squads, sir?"

"No, just Alpha. Send Bravo to harry the enemy's rear-guard. We don't want them to have the luxury of a tactical."

Justin saluted fist-to-heart, "will that be all, Praetor Zhang?"

"Yes, Centurion. See it done."

Without another word, Justin departed, jogging back through the ranks and calling for the men and women Frank had requested. The plan, in its basic form, was simple. The Legion would hold their ground and make no move to shift their position, but would prepare a false Vanguard assault near their intended target, but just far enough that forces would need to be shifted to respond.

Because of the proximity to Krios, it would be those in his immediate outer orbit that were dispatched to address the attack. Following this, the artery – that is, the Titan – would be exposed, allowing Frank's Special Forces team to join with Clarisse's Spartans and brutalize their way into an opening to the Titan. After that, it was a simple matter of using the ferocity of the strike forces to make them look far more of a threat than they were. Then, preying on the Monsters' lack of discipline, Frank would leave Clarisse and her forces to keep any reinforcements away from Krios, while Frank dealt with the Titan.

It was a simple plan, in truth, but one that was far more likely to work. After all, a plan was only good until the point the first sword was drawn. Thus, the simpler the tactics and strategies, the better the chances they wouldn't be foiled before they could be properly executed. The main point hinged on the strike team hitting Krios' depleted defence force hard and fast, however. They had to throw the Monsters into confusion, force them to impede one another, disallow them the chance to cohesively respond to the feint, or the precision assault. The enemy reinforcements couldn't be allowed to return to Krios, but nor could they be allowed to effectively surround the feinting force.

The lives of several hundred Roman soldiers depended on an expedited assault by the strike team, and Frank wasn't about to lose a good chunk of loyal warriors just for a fool gambit. It had to be perfect. If it was anyone but Clarisse, he wouldn't have taken such a massive risk – but he trusted the Spear of Ares, trusted her precision, her discipline. But most of all, he trusted her _ferocity_. As for the tactical, that was a simple reference; tactical retreat. Without the ability to perform one, the Monster lines would break, their coordination would falter and they would be crushed before the relentless, disciplined Imperial assault.

Frank took a moment to take stock of his surroundings, noting Krios' relative position and the Titan's bellows for a worthy opponent. _I wonder if he even realizes that he's the one stopping anyone from facing him._ Frank considered idly, observing the way the Cyclopes surrounded the ram-helmed Titan defensively. It was almost a pity, really, that more of the ancient beings couldn't be like Iapetus, or Bob as he preferred to be called. The Silver Titan had been instrumental and invaluable in multiple instances for the Imperial war effort, and was quite ruthless when it came to war.

The Praetor considered Hazel next, wondering how she was doing, what her time in Greece was like. They had sent her with two full Legions to the ancient lands, to seek out and excavate the gold and bronze required to fuel the Imperial war effort, to keep them supplied against the monsters. He knew that the ships kept returning from where she held command, so he knew she was safe – it didn't sit right with him to be apart from her, though, not at such distance. Percy and Jason had assured him it was necessary, but he didn't have to like it.

Abruptly, the roar of a diesel engine ripped through the air, and Frank turned, smiling. From within the tunnel, a massive military grade armoured personnel carrier screeched its way towards the Roman safe zone, skidding to a halt near the siege engines and releasing its back ramp. In twos, Clarisse's Spartans marched out, their celestial bronze armour shining even in the dim light of the cloud-covered mid-morning.

Clarisse herself followed behind them, her purple cloak flaring as she marched forwards, overtaking her warriors and leading them towards the rear of the Roman lines. A murmur of recognition and, more importantly, hope rippled through the Imperial ranks – cheers and applause greeting their arrival. For their part, the Spartans remained seemingly oblivious, marching in the wake of their Mistress without reaction. Clarisse herself had her red-plumed helm tucked under her left arm, spear gripped in her right hand. She was waving it somewhat, nodding to the cheering Legionaries with a cocky grin. Frank didn't mind; his sister's arrogance was a part of what made her such a fearless combatant. So long as she did her duty, he had no qualms with her.

Making his own way through the Legion's ranks, Frank advanced towards the Daughter of Ares, coming to a halt a few metres away from her. A mutual nod was exchanged between the two, and Clarisse spoke first. "So. What needs killing?" She was direct and to the point, an oddly refreshing pair of traits, despite the potential for irritation.

"You'll be working as a kill team with one of my Special Forces units. They'll attack in tandem with you and flank Krios' defenders. You'll spearhead the central charge, while a feint draws his attention. Justin has the details, and he'll fill you in when you reach the staging point – at current, however, we're still in the process of tactical briefing. Wait for my signal, and then move."

"Wait for your signal? I don't answer to you, Zhang." Clarisse said bluntly.

"No," Frank agreed, "ordinarily you don't. But this is my theatre, and those are my soldiers, and if you cost any of them their lives by blindly charging prior to my signal, I'll teach you the difference between Ares and Mars."

Clarisse fell silent for a moment, eyeing the imposing form of her younger brother. Frank was not a joke, and he knew she knew it. For better or worse, he was considered one of the most powerful demi-gods in the Empire, and it was widely known he'd been blessed not just once, but twice by the God of War.

"Very well," Clarisse said at last. "At your signal, then." Without another word, she signalled to her Spartans and turned, marching towards the right end of the Vanguard to meet up with Justin, and learn her part in the plan. Releasing a quiet sigh of relief, Frank set himself to purpose, navigating his way through the Legion until he reached the command field command behind their safe zone, a few minutes later. "Is everything ready?"

"Almost, Praetor." Replied one of the communications officers, a legacy from Camp Jupiter, most likely. "We're just awaiting confirmation of Falcon Squad Bravo, and we should be green for initiation."

Nodding, Frank turned back towards the battle, his eyes sweeping the engaged Imperial line, tuning out the screams of dying soldiers and roars of agonized monsters, little more than minor distractions. Nothing to worry about, not yet, not until the screams outweighed the roars. "We're green, Praetor."

Frank nodded, steeling himself and pointing his halberd to one of the signal officers. "Give the feint order." Complying, the officer picked up a trumpet and blew out a quick few signals, sending the Legion Centurions into a flurry of activity. Frank watched intently, observing the speed and clarity of the soldiers' movements, making careful note of where they struggled and where they excelled. He noted falters, position shifts and corrections and stored them in his mind for later. Twenty seconds following the signal, the Vanguard made its feint, a collective roar from the Romans propelling their giant distraction straight into the Monsters' ranks, a phalanx of Legionaries slaughtering a path through the ranks of the nightmarish creatures. Frank waited tensely, eyes scanning the ranks of monsters near Krios.

"He isn't going for it…" murmured one of the observing scouts, and Frank lifted his shield to signal him into silence. "Watch," the Praetor said simply.

Surely enough, it took Krios several moments of internal debate, but eventually he bellowed his orders – Monsters nearby eagerly peeled away, hollering and hooting for blood, moving to surround the Roman force. "Sometimes, it just takes time." Frank commented idly, before turning back to the signal officer. "Sound the second advance! I'm going in."

Nodding obediently, the trumpeter played yet another tune, and another roar went up from the Romans. Clarisse's electric spear flared with light as she charged with her Spartans, smashing into the weakened defensive ranks of Krios' guardians with primal ferocity, hacking, stabbing and slashing her way towards the Titan with her honour guard in tow.

Seemingly surprised by the arrival of the daughter of Mars, Krios barked an order for his forces to kill her, but it fell on unworthy ears. Each Monster that moved to intercept the Spartans and their Leader fell within moments, skewered, stabbed or cleaved by one of the perfectly harmonized warriors. Krios himself turned his attention on them, just as several Cyclopes smashed into him, staggering the immortal Titan. From his flank, Alpha Squad of the Roaring Falcons smashed into the Monster forces, carried by metal wings crafted by children of Hephaestus.

"Forwards!" Clarisse roared within the din of battle, "forwards for the glory of Olympus!" Her Spartans roared wordlessly with her, converging on the Titan's inner circle with unstoppable momentum. By this point, the ruthless attack had disoriented the monsters completely, sending their ranks and command structure into utter disarray. Frank took advantage of this, sprinting full speed through the open corridor left by Clarisse's advance. His armoured weight thundered as he ran, scattering what few straggling monsters there were as the Legion closed the gap, securing the escape route should their Praetor need it.

As Clarisse, her Spartans and the Roaring Falcons pushed the Cyclopes and Skeletal Soldiers guarding Krios away from the Titan, Frank bee lined towards him, ducking under a swinging scythe and smashing a Cyclopes with his shield in the face, so hard that it dissolved the monster instantly. The son of Mars didn't slow his momentum, leaping to the right to avoid being skewered by Krios' spear, Frank laughed out loud, coming to a halt at the Titan's left side.

"You're getting slow, goat-brains."

"You dare speak to a Titan that way, little Demi-God!?"

In reply, Frank slammed his halberd against his shield, bracing it in a predatory stance. "My name is Frank Zhang, you overgrown piece of sheep dung, son of Mars Ultor, Lieutenant of Perseus Jackson!"  
"Meaningless titles!" Krios roared in rage, "soon to be forgotten when I skewer you like a fish!"

"Try your best, ram-head."

Bellowing in fury, Krios charged at Frank, intending to make good on his promise and skewer him like a fish. However, as the Titan closed and reared his arm back to stab, Frank vanished, transforming into a mouse and racing between the Titan's legs. Before Krios could make sense of what happened, Frank shifted into an eagle, soaring up and shifting back into his regular form. This time, three feet above the Titan he had the advantage, roaring as he thrust his halberd's pointed tip full force deep into Krios' right shoulder.

A bellow of agony followed and the Titan dropped his weapon, reaching up in an attempt to grab Frank, who simply let go of his halberd and leaped backwards off of Krios' shoulder, transforming into a lion and landing roughly on all fours. While the Titan grappled with the weapon embedded in his shoulder, frank raced towards his calves, ripping vicious gashes in the Titan's hamstrings and staggering him, sending him crashing to his knees on the concrete. Before Krios could effectively counter, Frank had sprinted away and transformed into a monstrous grizzly bear, barrelling back towards the immortal and smashing into his head, slashing at his eyes and nose with his claws.

This time however, Krios had expected an attack, and he managed to land a heavy blow on the Praetor – swatting him aside amidst a howl of pain at his ravaged face. "I will _kill_ you, son of Mars!"

It was at that moment that Clarisse appeared.

Charging like a creature of the Underworld, she launched herself into the air with a scream of rage and war lust, her electric spear stabbing deep into Krios' left side, above his ribs in a spray of ichor. The titan roared again, arm convulsing at the electric current racing through his body. Golden ichor splattered the ground and his armour, sending the Titan reeling.

Even as Krios turned towards Clarisse, Frank had recovered and transformed into a massive bull, charging Krios and ripping apart his right leg with the horns protruding from his head. When the Titan's leg buckled, Clarisse took advantage, catching another spear – this one a simple celestial bronze build – from one of her Spartans, she dodged Krios' flailing hands and thrust the spear with full force into his collarbone, eliciting yet another scream of pain and incredulous rage from the Titan. "You cannot best me! I am a _TITAN!_"

That was when Frank, having transformed into an eagle, swooped in and transformed into himself in mid-air, shoulder slamming Krios hard onto his back, drawing a wheezing grunt from the titan. "Yeah you are," Frank said from on top of the dazed immortal's chest, "but I'm a _Roman_." The Praetor drew his gladius then, and plunged it full-force up into Krios' chin, through the roof of his mouth and into his skull.

The Titan began to glow, and Clarisse called a warning, tackling Frank off his body just as Krios exploded, flattening them both and vaporizing several unlucky monsters. Clarisse rolled off Frank a few moments later, grunting as she hit the concrete. Frank, for his part, dragged himself groggily to his feet, blinking away the bright spots in his eyes from the Titan's _eventful_ destruction. "Well, we won't be seeing him for a few months, at least." Beside him, Clarisse also pulled herself to her feet, wiping some blood from a gash on her forehead. "Yeah, hopefully he'll rot in Tartarus for a while. Good job, brother."

Frank grinned beneath his winged helm, "back at you, sister."

Around them, Monsters had begun panicking, blaring retreat horns and scrambling away – only to find their avenue of retreat harassed by a squad of flying Romans with assault rifles and Imperial Gold bullets. Cursing, the Monsters broke down, just as Frank had predicted – scattering in multiple directions and impeding one another at every turn. Even as he and Clarisse watched, the Legion surged forwards under their own signal trumpets, roaring bloody murder and cutting down the fleeing creatures with impunity.

The Spartans, bloodied, bruised, but all accounted for made their way to Clarisse and Frank, forming a protective circle – by some unspoken word, they seemed to consider the Praetor as deserving of their loyalty as their Mistress. Perhaps he had proved his reputation as more than inflated stories, after all. Turning to Clarisse, Frank smiled, removing his helmet. His black hair was cropped short, and did not obscure his eyes. The X-shaped scar dominating his right cheek and jaw twisted as his smile turned to a grin. "Couldn't have done it without you, Clarisse. Thank you, again, for the aid."

"Thank Jackson," his sister muttered, a very faintly satisfied blush settling on her cheeks. "It was the kelp head that ordered me to assist you."

"That reminds me," Frank murmured, "we should report in."

Nodding in agreement, Clarisse led the way back towards the Roman field command, stepping aside respectfully as Frank reached the communications table. "Open a line to Central Command."

"Yes, Praetor." Replied one of the other communications officers, a young girl of sixteen; probably a daughter of Hermes, they tended to gravitate towards that sort of work. When one's father was the god of travellers and messengers, organizing and distributing marching orders was a natural allure. "Channel open, Praetor Zhang."

Nodding, Frank turned to one of the nearby monitors, waiting until Annabeth's face appeared on it, her expression grim. "Frank. Report."

"Krios is dead," he said simply, "and his army is in full retreat. The Legion is moving to resecure the city and push deeper in. We should be able to retake a good few miles of land and set up an effective boundary line before their next assault."

Annabeth nodded, seemingly relieved, but the tension did not leave her face. "What of your forces? How many casualties?"

"Four cohorts. They bloodied us something fierce, but it's not crippling. We'll just have to abuse _testudo_ more than I usually like."

Annabeth nodded again, glancing at something out of their view, before turning back to the screen. "Frank, Percy's in the field. He's gone to help Leo."

"Leo?" Frank asked in surprise.

"What happened, Annabeth?" Clarisse demanded, stepping up beside Frank. "Why would Percy go by himself?"

"Leo's Legion was ambushed, Frank. We sent Clarisse before we realized. Koios _and_ Hyperion are there."

Frank and Clarisse fell silent, shocked. It was Annabeth who spoke first, following their muteness.

"He left here over an hour ago, and he took Blackjack. It couldn't have taken more than ten minutes to get there, but he hasn't reported in. We can't hail the Legion, either. However, we do know that Percy is still alive, for now." Her voice was surprisingly solid, despite what she was saying. Percy and Annabeth had been basically inseparable since they'd descended into Tartarus nearly a decade ago, and Frank couldn't imagine this separation was easy on either of them.

"How can you be sure?" He asked, internally wincing, but knowing it was necessary.

"There's a Hurricane over Brooklyn, Frank."

Beside him, Clarisse whistled long and low. "Well, that's one way of knowing, that's for sure."

Annabeth nodded, "we're monitoring the situation. For now, you two should focus on reclaiming as much of our Eastern territory as you can. But be careful, we've had reports of large enemy numbers in the area. So far it's just monster warlords brawling with eachother, but we can't be too careful. Don't get caught in a blind side or ambush."

"Roger that," Frank said with a nod, "we'll secure the area and set up a defensive sector. I have some ideas for fortification. Hopefully we won't be caught by surprise again."

"I'll take the Spartans and do some force recon," Clarisse added in, "we'll assess threat levels of nearby enemy units and eliminate any small bands we come across in the area." She turned to Frank, "have maps for me?"

The Praetor nodded, and turned to Annabeth. "We'll be in touch, Annabeth."

The daughter of Athena nodded, her scar distorting as she forced a smile, "good luck, both of you. Command out."

The screen went blank, Frank and Clarisse glanced at each other, then departed together to find a map, and start coordinating. In his mind, Frank resigned himself to knowing that Percy could handle Hyperion and Koios and focused instead on planning what he needed to do to secure New Jersey, and ensure that it was better defended in future. Even as he began to speak to Clarisse about deployment, more ideas were popping into his head.

They had a lot of work to do.


	7. Chapter VI

Taking a moment here to say thank you, so very much, for all the reviews. **They are what keep me writing.** It means more than I can express to see such vehement and loyal support for my works, and for as long as you guys give those reviews often, I'll post chapters often. Think of it like a bit of bribery and incentive for me to write ;) I'm sorry about how short this particular Chapter is, and if it feels rushed. I'm very excited to push into the actual story (yes, everything until now was just world building) and will be releasing a lot more POV chapters for different characters soon. Without spoiling too much, Thalia, the Stoll brothers, Reyna, Octavian, Rachel, Grover, Chiron and some OCs I created will be having mentions, appearances and a couple POVs. I will not just be focusing on the Seven in this story, as it is is set in such a massive world, both in tale and scale, that while they will be central, the Seven will not be the only characters written. If you're familiar with the Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones) series, or the Wheel of Time, that is how I generally write - and I will continue to do so. This is designed as a fantasy epic, in a much broader scale than the Heroes of Olympus / Percy Jackson books. Not out of dislike for Mr. Riordan's style, but just because that is how I write. I hope you enjoy, and remember, **keep posting those reviews!**

Chapter Dedication: For Jess, the girl who inspires me to keep this going. My muse, my friend and my guilty late night pleasure 3

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VI

Percy

Two titans. Leo on the ground. Multiple avenues of attack.

_Alright Percy,_ he thought to himself, _prioritize._

The first thing was to ensure Leo's safety, but that wasn't exactly easy with two very angry, very dangerous immortal deities staring bloody murder at him. Percy turned to one of the gawking, stunned Legionaries, barking an order quickly. "Check the Praetor, and get him somewhere safe!" That done, he made sure that there was no one in the immediate vicinity of what would be his no-holds-barred warzone, and flourished Riptide in his grip.

"You want a challenge, Hyperion?" The son of Poseidon taunted, "I'm right here."

Hyperion glanced at his brother, and then looked back to Percy. Raking his golden eyes over the rest of the Roman forces, the Titan seemed to consider what Percy was offering fair odds, and he stepped forwards with a sneer. "What, you think I need my brother's aid to best you, _demi-god_?" His shoulder now healed, at least partially, Hyperion grabbed his sword – pointing the megalith of a weapon at Percy in challenge. "Today is the day you die, son of Poseidon!"

Percy had already dismissed Hyperion from his mind by that point, of course. Instead, the Lord Protector was focusing on what he remembered of his last battle with the Titan, nearly three years prior. That time, Hyperion had tried cornering him in the deserts of Texas and had almost managed to kill him. This time, however, Percy had a plan – and if all went according to it, this battle would not only be short, it would end with him in shape to engage Koios without fear of disadvantage.

As Hyperion readied to charge, Percy pre-empted him, sprinting forwards and exerting his will not against the Titan, but to the sky above, and the hurricane readying itself for attack. The tug in his gut that heralded the use of his powers tightened, and Percy recognised his newfound strength pushing itself to the limits. At this point, it wasn't about _using_ the Hurricane's power; it was about _containing_ it until the time was right. Hyperion and Koios had noticed it, of course, but they couldn't know how strong Percy was – not when Annabeth herself, his own girlfriend, didn't fully understand.

Be it the loss of Poseidon, or some result of how much he had been fighting the past eight years, Percy's powers had grown exponentially. Like a muscle persistently and relentlessly exercised, they had become stronger, more deadly, easier to use. He could command the tides to exponential levels now, enough so that the Imperial navy had managed to clear large swathes of infested waters to establish transport routes between continents. Flying was still impossible in most instances, most airplanes had been destroyed early into the war – and the few that remained were conserved for very, very special purposes.

Hyperion seemed somewhat taken aback when Percy charged him, but reacted quickly nonetheless, seeking to meet the charging demi-god with a vicious sweep of his sword. Grimacing in annoyance at the predictable movement, Percy tensed his legs and leaped upwards at the last moment, somersaulting over the sword and hitting the ground running. Behind him, the Legion roared in approval, slamming their weapons to their shields as they observed.

The Titan bellowed, blustering in impotent rage as the fiery immortal was wont to do, and slammed his feet on the concrete. Immediately afterwards, golden flames roared from his body, racing across the ground beneath towards Percy. Hyperion's eyes gleamed with triumph, as if this action alone was enough to ensure his victory over the son of Poseidon. For his part, Percy was more interested in the Hurricane and the building pressure in his gut, than he was in Hyperion's attack.

Using an ability he had learned years prior, the Lord Protector pulled out a canteen of water and sliced it apart with Riptide, manipulating the liquid with practiced precision into a blade of water. Using only his willpower, he cut a small, narrow path through Hyperion's fire – leaping through and rolling between the Titan's legs as he attempted to skewer him, slicing his blade along each of the golden immortal's inner thighs. While hamstringing wasn't really practical at this point, it did cause a fair amount of pain – and have the added bonus of distracting the Titan quite sufficiently.

"Curse you, Percy Jackson!" Hyperion roared in rage, "I will crush you!"

"Not alone you won't," Percy replied tauntingly, having dodged just out of range of Hyperion's sword. "Too proud to admit you need help, Hyperion? I suppose you think your brother will just show you up if he joins in." _Come on_, Percy thought desperately, avoiding the urge to stare at the Hurricane. He could feel his control slipping, when compared to the raging storm above them. _Take the bloody bait, you idiot Titan!_

Hyperion's face was a thunderhead, the Titan's rage explosive. "I cannot be outshone by anyone! _KOIOS!_ Get over here!"

Suppressing a smile of grim satisfaction, Percy feigned a look of doubt as Koios happily strode over, flourishing his massive spear. "I am looking forwards to your death," the cloud-bannered Titan thundered, "more than I ever have any other, Percy Jackson." Suppressing a grin of relief, Percy steeled himself. This would be the most complicated part of the plan. Not giving the Titans time to attack, the Lord Protector went on the offensive, dodging a spear thrust from Koios and darting towards Hyperion, shifting direction at the last second and rolling under a sweeping greatsword slash. He leaped to the side to avoid a crushing spear blow, and jumped over another sword strike.

Back and forth the son of Poseidon went, dodging to and fro as the Titans attacked him. Every now and then, he would take a small hit, or feign a stagger or stumble, drawing them in. Inch by inch, they closed on him, seeking to crush him between them. If he made a mistake, he would be dead – it had reached that critical point, yet he was not done. It was not enough, not yet. The legion watched in silence, cringing collectively every time their Lord Commander seemingly received a wound.

It took nearly four minutes of desperate fighting, dodging and weaving until Percy saw his opening. Battle acumen kicking into overdrive, the son of Poseidon turned and spat at Hyperion. "You _DARE!?_" the Titan bellowed in rage, before raising his sword overhead. Percy smiled inwardly and leaped upwards, at the exact same moment as Koios closed the last remaining distance. Percy slashed wildly, and found his mark, burying riptide in Hyperion's shoulder.

Roaring in anger, the Titan changed the direction of his blade, at the same moment as Koios stabbed furiously at Percy. It was that second that the demi-god released his sword and dropped to the ground, rolling under Hyperion's legs and scrambling away from the two Titans. Even as he did, twin howls of pain split the air. Koios' spear, embedded in Hyperion's torso, while the fiery Titan had accidentally put his sword through Koios' left shoulder.

Even as they had begun to untangle themselves, Percy smiled. It was far too late.

The Titans turned to him.

Percy waved.

The Hurricane exploded into life.

Guiding the sea wind was effortless for Percy, hammering it into Koios and Hyperion like a giant windy fist. Sending the Titans sprawling in a heap of gold-and-white armour and flailing limbs, Percy advanced, taking advantage of their disorientation. The demi-god pulled Riptide out from his pocket, uncapping it as he ran, closing distance with his to-be victims. He somersaulted over a desperate stab from Koios' spear, and buried his blade into the Titan's mouth, through the back of his upper cranium. Knowing what would happen next, and having prepared for it: the moment Koios began glowing, Percy threw himself free and closed his eyes, bracing against the explosion of divine force.

When the light cleared, Percy's eyes widened. Hyperion stood over him, bloodied but alive, and his sword gripped in his hand. _Shit._ Percy thought in disbelief, as Hyperion's blade descended. _Annabeth._ His last thought, her name, her face, her smile.

That was when Leo bloody Valdez decided to earn the title Praetor.

Hyperion's blade stopped dead, its tip slamming into the head of Leo's warhammer. The Praetor himself stood there, wobbling, with sweat racing down his face and his skin a sickly, pale tinge of white; likely from his broken leg. "Not to be a bother," he said through gritted teeth, "but I'd really appreciate some help, Perce."

Not even bothering to ask how it was possible, Percy leaped into action, rolling under Hyperion's legs and roaring with savage strength, the Hurricane's ocean water flooding his body. New strength surged into his limbs, and Poseidon's scion eviscerated Hyperion's knees, dropping the titan hard to the concrete. "No!" The immortal roared in rage, "I will not be denied again! I will have my rev–!" Leo's warhammer shut him up, cracking his teeth together and sending him cross-eyed from the blow. Wasting no time, Percy leaped forwards, raising Riptide and plunging it deep into the back of Hyperion's skull, out through his mouth. Fully aware of what was to come, Percy used his momentum to flip over the titan and tackle Leo, pulling as much water as he could into a vague blanket for the both of them not a moment too soon.

Hyperion erupted in a miniature supernova, and Percy snarled at the feeling of fire rippling over his back, biting back a vulgar curse at the pain. The water was already healing him. When the blinding light cleared, Percy cautiously rose to his feet, directing his sea-green stare to the Horde of silent monsters. "Legion!" He called loudly. "_Full advance._" Roaring with delight, the Imperial soldiers exploded into action, charging towards the waiting Monster army. In turn, the invaders turned tail and fled, attempting to escape the avalanche-like wrath of the beleaguered Legion with little to no luck. Even three to one, they were cut down in droves, too terrified to fight or find any form of coordination.

"Thanks, Leo." Percy said simply, ignoring the field medics looking them over. "You saved my life."

"Just take away one from the tab of the times you've saved mine," Leo said with a weak smile, wincing as an Apollo demi-god investigated his leg. "By the way, before I pulled a penalty on Hyperion's finishing score, I got a call from Annabeth on the two-way we have working."

"What did she say?" Percy asked immediately, all tiredness forgotten.

"She needs us to pack up and head to the departure docks immediately." Leo replied grimly.

"Why?"

"It's Rachel," Leo answered. "She's had a prophecy."


	8. Chapter VII

As always, review and whatnot, but I wanted to just say sorry for the ungodly amount of endless filler and plot building in this post. I sort of started rambling in a 1am haze of writing halfway through, and I'm too dead tired to properly edit it. I'll go through and make it prettier here and there tomorrow, but for now, enjoy a Piper POV and my sorry attempt at a female character. **Review and enjoy!**

Chapter Dedication: For Jess, and her incessant demands for me to write more Jasper.

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VII

Piper

Piper tapped her foot impatiently on the marble floor beneath her as she waited; arms folded under her bust and eyes staring holes into the target of her frustrations, ignoring the faint tinkle of the jewels in her golden circlet. Standing in front of her, bent fully over the entrails of a butchered teddy bear, Octavian stood in traditional toga and sash, murmuring to himself – using his knife to sort the innards of the once-adorable stuffed animal carefully. Around them, the Temple of Zeus Optimus Maximus gleamed with polished perfection, despite the absence of the King of the Gods on Olympus. Jason had commanded its construction, along with similar temples to Hades and Poseidon, immediately after his coronation as Caesar. A wise move to Piper, as it immediately equalled Percy and Nico with Jason _and_ it pacified the Romans and Greeks both.

After the return of the Athena Parthenos, the gods' split personalities had healed, and they had held council amongst themselves. The result had been a dictation to their Greek and Roman children, commanding the acceptance of both cultures as one. The invocation of a god or goddess by their Roman or Greek side still had a definitive effect on their manifestation, but it was less about their name and more about the belief and perception of the individual or individuals invoking them.

Calling on Ares or Mars would still produce the figure the invoking individual perceived most, Roman or Greek. The name itself was irrelevant – the differences were more tradition than fact, now. Old habits die hard, however, and Romans and Greeks still maintained their cultural names, despite both sides having mutually agreed to adopt a primarily Roman organization to their fledgling new Empire.

"Are you done yet, Octavian?" Piper finally asked, striding forwards with a click of her heels on the floor. Her single-shoulder dress, a formal mark of her station as the Chief Ambassador of the Empire, flared around her feet, the scarlet fabric rippling like a river of blood. Absent her shawl, her tanned arms were completely exposed; the toned and strong muscle within stealing nothing from her femineity. Piper, as a daughter of Aphrodite, had managed to perfectly balance physical prowess with pure sensual beauty – appearing as an ideal blend of both outgoing and elegant. "Rachel is waiting, and Percy is on his way from Manhattan already. We need a damn reading already."

In reply, Octavian sighed in a long-suffering manner, but nodded, turning to face Piper. The years had somewhat softened the Augury, whose narrow and pinched features had become stronger and more masculine – he was nowhere near as powerful looking as Percy, or Jason for that matter – but there was a new kind of dignity to the Augury, which was aided by his apparent acceptance of his position. At Jason's proclamation as Caesar, Octavian had seemingly given up his mad quest to grab power; instead investing himself in maintain and holding the position of Augur. "The days ahead will be difficult, but the omens declare victory on the horizon – hard-won, but ours."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes with great difficulty, Piper nodded, turning with a flick of her waist-length brown hair and striding back towards the entrance. "Hurry up, Octavian," she called back to him, "Rachel will give you hell if you're late again." At the mention of the Oracle, Octavian hiked up his toga and jogged with the sound of slapping sandals after Piper, seemingly in no mood to be rendered unto the mercy of a grumpy Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

Stepping outside the temple, Piper nodded politely to the two Praetorian Guardsmen on duty, returning their respectful bows with a warm smile. Every movement she made was measured, graceful, designed to draw attention and impress. She had fallen into the role of Ambassador with perfect ease, and had been instrumental in forging several Alliances overseas with other remnant nations that had held out against the Monster incursion. In America, the New Roman Empire was the largest power – soon to be the only power, if what she had heard was true.

Yet across the globe, other nations thrived as well. The Humanity Resistance Army in Russia, the Confederate People's Republic of Asia in China, Japan and India, even the Special Warfare Operations and Resurgent Democracy in Australia. The last was the most impressive to Piper, as the Australians had managed to use the lethal flora and fauna of their homeland to devastating results, effectively hamstringing the Monster incursions and liberating mass swathes of their land. It was one of the few truly safe locations on the planet, and if she had her way, would soon be part of the Empire's foreign holdings.

At the base of the stairs to the massive, thirty foot high temple, a modified Chrysler 300C sat waiting for them, its hood painted with the Dove of Aphrodite, and Roman Eagles flying from flags attached to its bonnet above each headlight. The car itself was heavily modified, thanks to Leo's mad genius. It had a reinforced steel plate on its underside, in the unlikely event a bomb were to go off beneath it, as well as glass that could stop a missile and celestial bronze framework throughout the vehicle and its interior to make it poisonous to monsters.

Its rear was modified to comfortably seat four people, with a triple layer of steel to protect the fuel tank and specialised foam designed to counter-act the combustible nature of fuel, meaning that even a direct bullet hit would not detonate the petrol. The car ran on diesel, so as to allow it to drive in any condition and had a V12 engine of Leo's design. Its wheels were Kevlar and rubber composite with deployable steel treads for slippery roads and the ability to replace each tire three times with the push of a button, should they somehow be shredded.

The plating of the car was also reinforced with Imperial gold between the metal plates, and each door weighed as much as the door of a Boeing 747 aircraft. The exhaust was located within its own compartment under the car and was only deployed when the vehicle turned on, to avoid any chance of sabotage. The hood of the car was magically sealed, and could only be opened by someone possessing the correct key and code combination. Furthermore, the entire vehicle was filled with warding charms fused into the construction, making it a giant steel pain beacon to any monster within one hundred yards.

To Piper, it had seemed ridiculously excessive, even before Leo had explained the on-board weapons systems, secret mobile armoury and the celestial bronze, tank buster bullet fed mini-gun. When she learned that it had been designed to drive on water, could submerge and was capable of deploying glide wings when launched from an aircraft, however, she had been less exasperated. She had been even more mollified when Jason had informed her that the vehicle was for her personal use, and would travel with her no matter which country she visited.

A Praetorian Guardsman in Kevlar and imperial gold stepped out of the driver's seat, bowing to Piper and opening the door for her to enter, the man offering a lesser bow to Octavian. Many of the Praetorian Guards had been from Camp Jupiter or the United States Special Forces. Few of them had any love for the Augur. Piper, however, had _charmed_ them all quite effectively. Sliding elegantly into the seat on the far right of the car, Piper adjusted herself and crossed her legs elegantly, not paying attention as Octavian settled himself into one of the seats opposite her.

The door closed, and Piper heard the thud of the pressurized seals locking, the faint hum of the life support system kicking in to filter and recycle their oxygen. The car was capable of function on hydroelectric power as well, if needed, which meant fuel could be conserved underwater thanks to the on-board turbine system. "Is it true she had a prophecy?" Octavian asked Piper quietly, looking out of his own window, his face unreadable. "A new great prophecy, after nearly eight years of nothing?"

Piper turned to the Augury, her eyes scanning him for a moment, before she looked down at her lap in thought. "Yes, she had a prophecy. I was with her when it happened." Octavian turned to her, raising an eyebrow, "what was it?" Piper shook her head, looking back to the window. "I was ordered not to tell anyone until Percy and the others arrive. Jason wants to convene a full war council before we can move forward with fulfilling the Prophecy."

"A war council?" Octavian asked in surprise, "What does the Caesar require an entire council discussion on?"

Piper simply shook her head, however, and remained silent. Wisely, Octavian did not press, instead returning to staring outside of his window – expression sombre, and mood ambivalent. Piper had no doubt the Augury was attempting to puzzle out what she was hiding from him, but she was confident he would have a hard time doing so. She could still scarcely believe the prophecy, and she had heard it firsthand. When she had told Rachel what she'd said, the Oracle had asked if she was being punked. After she realized she wasn't, she had all but collapsed out of shock.

Piper couldn't blame her.

The Chrysler rolled down the roadways of Romana Prima in relative silence, undisturbed by the pedestrians, chariots and horses populating the area. Because of fuel restrictions, most motor vehicles had been abandoned or handed in to the Military in exchange for money. It was very rare that anyone not in the government drove anywhere, and for that reason almost every car was given a wide berth – allowed to pass through even the thickest of traffic unimpeded. Their destination was no secret, of course. Piper could already see it, looming in the distance. The Imperial Palace was a marvellous affair, a reconstructed and enlarged version of the government building that had been present when the city was still called Olympia. Colonnaded marble columns and statues of the gods dominated it in every location, and the Praetorian Guard patrolled every entrance like prowling wolves.

Atop it stood a massive statue of the three chief gods, Zeus, Poseidon and Hades. While in ancient roman culture, Mars Ultor had been the patron of the Empire, the effective merge with the Greek half of their theological source had altered the manner in which the Empire operated. Mars was given his due, still, of course – every single barracks had a statue of the War God in all his glory. The palace, however, was reserved for the sons of Kronos – and the most elementally imperative gods in Olympus.

"The people look hopeful," Octavian said quietly, his blue eyes sliding across the faces of the citizens they passed on the roads. "There's a palpable feeling of joy in the air. I believe the news of our assimilation of the Texan Alliance has spread. They're excited."

Piper nodded in agreement, she too having noticed and _felt_ the level of increased morale present throughout the city. It was important to pay attention to the shifting whims of the populace, even when total control remained with Jason – the will of the people was a powerful thing and son of Zeus or not, incorrect action against the population could be a disaster. Loyal as their military was, there were limits to anyone's tolerance. Thankfully, Jason had yet to prove himself an inadequate Caesar.

Piper fought down the urge to sigh as she thought of Jason. It was difficult at the best of times, speaking about him so casually, especially to Octavian. It had been years since they had broken up, but still, a part of her loved him desperately – and she couldn't help but pine after the blue-eyed Emperor and his ripped, perfectly moulded body. Outside, houses and large forums passed by without event, the massive expanse of the city swallowing them as they drove through a tunnel. Romana Prima was huge, having been aggressively expanded following its adoption by the Empire. The city housed millions, and hundreds of thousands of soldiers.

In a world torn asunder by war, it was a truly safe place – a thing almost impossible to find in their day and age. Piper was proud of it, not just because of what it represented, but because she knew it was she and her friends that had pioneered its birth. "We're almost there, my Lady." The driver said from in front, gently turning the car into one of the restricted access roads leading directly to the palace. "We've received word that the Imperator expects you and Lord Octavian in the conference room as soon as possible." At that, Piper blinked and avoided looking at Octavian. She could feel the Augury's eyes on her, attempting to pry the information he needed out of her skull. Now more than ever, Piper wished Rachel had never delivered the damned prophecy.

When the Chrysler pulled up to the large, steel palace gates, the driver lowered his window and exchanged a few words with the sentries on duty, seemingly adhering to standard procedure. A few moments later, the Chrysler rolled into the Palace's massive front park. Most buildings had lawns, not the Imperial palace. A literal park, large enough for several Legions to occupy comfortably, marked the initial point of the Palace. A large, elegantly built road led towards the palace through the centre of the park, flanked by evenly spaced pinewood trees along its length – its body was carefully monitored by sentries at key checkpoints, each group manning heavy weapon emplacements and tracking the car's progress with the fixed munitions.

The Praetorian Guard were very protective of their Imperator.

"I will never fail to appreciate the grandeur of this palace," Octavian murmured, "what a brilliant tribute to Roman culture." Piper wanted to snort, but she knew he was right – never mind that Octavian himself had been the central proponent for designing the grounds in this manner. It did add a certain _gravitas_ to the Imperial Palace, and no visitor could drive up to the Palace without feeling the sheer power of the Empire.

Such grand designs had not been seen in centuries, and Piper couldn't help but feel awe and pride every time she was given the chance to experience the long drive to the palace steps. It took them five minutes, several more gun emplacements and two large tanks aiming at them menacingly to reach the actual palace. The entrance had been crafted with grandeur, a titanic pair of golden doors, each emblazoned with lightning bolt of Zeus clutched in the talons of an eagle. The doors themselves were wide enough for several hundred people to walk through in a line, and were guarded day and night – they never shut – by a full regiment of the Praetorian Guard.

Marble pillars were interspersed closer to Piper's arriving vehicle, holding up the massive roof, which by itself stretched out a good thirty feet further than the palace's initial stair. The reason for that, of course, was more than just to be impressive – even with the structure nearly six stories tall, the primary point of such a reinforced roof were the three godly statues upon it – gleaming into the midday sun. Piper did not have time to admire them, however, stepping out of the car the moment her door was opened.

Octavian followed, and after a brief pause to settle their attire, the pair moved purposefully towards the three large steps leading to the doors. Even here, there was a large crowd, as palatial staff and civilians wishing to petition the Caesar, or one of his representatives – the Ambassadors that answered to Piper – about a matter of state or personal concern. Jason had decreed an 'open door' policy, and requested enough staff exist to handle matters in an ordered and expedient manner. His wish had been fulfilled, though this meant that as they entered, they were forced to weave through a relatively large crowd of a few thousand citizens petitioning for assistance and recognition.

The roof, inside the entrance chamber, was breathtaking – Piper always reminded herself to look up when she visited the palace. Its arced ceiling held magnificent paintings of the gods on Olympus, the Roman legions and – perhaps most importantly to Piper – the Seven Demi-Gods who had ended Gaea, despite the tragic cost of the victory. Nico had even been given a place with the Seven, standing next to Jason on his left. It was indicative, a telling of the position of the three children of the primary gods. Percy to Jason's right, his enforcer, champion and commander of the Imperial Legions; Nico to his left, his shadow, his assassin and caretaker of all things unspoken and… shady, that the Empire needed taken care of.

Piper herself stood next to Annabeth in the mural, the pair of girls painted with chins held high, and eyes alight with power. Still, the artist had managed to capture the _energy_ between Annabeth and Percy, a faint melding of their stylistic auras, as if they were joined at the soul. Piper's heart ached at the thought, and she looked down from the ceiling, focusing on weaving through the crowd. Beside her, Octavian was admiring the large purple banners imprinted with the Imperial Eagle and S.P.Q.R, while also looking to the various portraits and statues that lined the perimeter of the entrance hall.

A statue of Hermes, god of messengers, dominated the centre of the Hall – standing tall above a fountain, representing the clerical nature of the hall's functions.

As Piper and Octavian began finding it more difficult to push through the crowd, and Piper almost considered resorting to mass charmspeak; a path abruptly cleared through the throng. It took them only a few moments to realize that as opposed to divine providence, it was the fact that the Commander of the Guard himself, Proteus Julius Maximus, had arrived on the scene. Piper took a moment to admire him, a twenty-three year old Demi-God son of Mars, his eyes the gold of the summer sun, his hair an exceedingly rare and exceedingly _gorgeous_ shade of blood-like crimson, and his features akin to that of a movie star or prince charming, save of course for the serious set of his lips and the lethal elegance of his movements.

Proteus was like a prowling lion, his chiselled jaw permanently set into a locked position, and his emotional state unreadable. It was impossible to tell if the commander of the guard was going to pat you on the back, or cut off your head. To top it all off, he was tall, standing at six feet and five inches and built like an American football linebacker. His armour fit well, and the tight shirts he wore showed off the powerful bulge of his muscles. Not too large as to be slow, but large enough that he could do very serious damage.

"Commander Proteus," Piper said with a smile, "what a pleasant surprise. I presume your presence here means the Imperator is very impatient to see us." At her side, Octavian remained silent, lips set to a thin line. He had tried being lippy with Proteus once, years prior, and the son of Mars had broken his jaw. Piper didn't think Octavian could ever forgive the insult.

"You are correct, Lady Mclean," Proteus answered in his coldly professional baritone, "please follow me. Caesar is waiting."

Piper did follow, though she took her sweet time, well aware that every eye in the Chamber was now upon them. Her speed forced the Praetorian Commander to slow down for her, and that was significant to any who saw it. Proteus slowed for no one but a very, very select group of people – one of the Seven? That was the definition of select. The twenty guardsmen and guardswomen that had accompanied Proteus formed an honour guard as the small group advanced, passing through a set of doors deeper into the palace, and out of sight of the thronging masses. It took them a good ten minutes, several staircases and multiple detours to arrive at the chamber where Jason awaited them. Proteus didn't knock, the door had been kept open in expectation, and he marched in while the guard took up positions outside. Within, Jason, Reyna, Rachel, Praetor Dakota, Praetor Will and the Praetors Connor and Travis Stoll stood waiting around a holographic map table, projecting an image of the planet with real time satellite mapping.

The first thing Piper noticed was that the Stoll brothers, now older and hardened by war, were deep in discussion and laughing quietly to themselves, while Dakota gave them sour looks from across the map table. Clearly, they had pulled a prank and Dakota had not been too thrilled. Will, the short former head of the Apollo cabin, remained indifferent to all of them – more focused on observing Piper, Proteus and Octavian than listening to Connor and Travis congratulating themselves on a prank well done.

Rachel was the first to greet them, giving Piper a wave and wry smile, before marching right past her to Octavian. "You're late," she informed him coldly. "Why were you late?"

"I was reading the omens," he protested weakly, "it took a lot of divining."

"You were being difficult again."

"No, I swear, I wasn't." Octavian's look of terror nearly cracked Piper up.

"If you're lying to me, Augury…"

"Damn it, woman, I swear on the Styx!"

Immediately, Rachel beamed and wrapped her arms around Octavian's neck. "Good, then you're not in trouble." Before anyone else could do more than smirk, she kissed him, quite ferociously, uncaring as to who was watching. Piper shook her head, still amazed at exactly how strange love was and the kind of thoughts Aphrodite would have had she been there to observe this strange pairing.

"Piper," Jason's voice washed over her, and Piper turned; her heart constricting as she looked at her ex-boyfriend properly for the first time. Jason was taller, stronger, more matured. Everything about him, the ridiculously _powerful_ features he had inherited from his father, had bloomed in his adulthood. The way he spoke, the way he talked, his jaw, his cheekbones – even the manner in which he gestured. There was presence to Jason, power, fathomless and incomprehensible. Many considered Percy to be most terrifying warrior in the Empire, but Jason was the greatest leader. Percy could inspire fierce loyalty, that was true – even Jason would follow Percy if he asked, but Jason could lead a nation. He could be impartial. Most of all, he could be _in control_ of himself.

"Glad you decided to join us, Ambassador." Piper smiled faintly at his words, her heart doing backflips in her chest. It was completely unfair that the bastard, the gorgeous, breathtaking bastard still had this much power over her feelings. She had thought herself past this last time they'd spoken, but the time apart had just made her ache for him. She felt her fingers trembling, and forced them to be still.

"My apologies for being late, Imperator. Are we ready to begin?"

"The Lord Protector, Chief Strategist and Praetors Valdez and Zhang are due to arrive in twenty minutes." Proteus said from somewhere to the right of Jason, "I believe we should wait for them before he proceed."

Jason had seemingly already come to that conclusion, because he merely nodded, studying the map before him. At that, Piper herself turned to look at the map, and noticed with a pang that Russia had been marked with a large, descending eagle, its talons expanded. A lightning bolt was flying from its open claws, aimed at the country, the entire image a static rendition upon the otherwise ever-changing map. She swallowed.

It was precisely what she feared.

Looking at Jason's face, the way his brow creased as he stared at the map, she knew in her heart that she had been right all along.

The Empire was going to war.


	9. Filler! Chapter VIII coming soon!

Hey guys, just a quick post here to tell you all that I _am_ working hard on VIII, and it _will_ be up this weekend, on 18th of November. I've been working 10 hour days pretty much non-stop and have had no energy to write. I love you all, keep yourselves waiting! The next POV is Annabeth!


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